


nelly

by ladynephthyss



Series: your night dances [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Gen, toastbabies - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29501757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladynephthyss/pseuds/ladynephthyss
Summary: her dreams are filled with her mother cantering on a grey, dappled mare.[of toastbaby number one]
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Series: your night dances [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2167059
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	nelly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosegardeninwinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegardeninwinter/gifts).



It’s a cold day in February, and Katniss Everdeen is draining the blood of a turkey when she hears that Abigail has died. It’s a passing thing, words caught between the quick turning of a knife and two men walking past the newly appointed butchering spot in the Silva, (no longer the Seam, for a few years as integration became more and more feasible) meant to foster skill sharing, and potentially better cuts of meat. 

Her husband walks the ten minutes down the hill, and through construction of better housing to give her lunch, a cheese roll and sausage. 

“She’s dead,” Katniss says, adjusting her skirts as she crouches, dunking the fowl in boiling water. Sets to plucking. Peeta frowns, drops a kiss to her hair. “It was her third, I think.” 

Peeta remembers Abigail, a smiling woman with a round belly, stirring with kicking. Whoever the father was, either dead or disappeared in the growing state of citizen lead innovation after the war. They met at the train station, some distribution of packaging, and he offered her bread. Better clothes. She stayed at their home, hand on the home of her little one. 

_“Lost two,” she said. “Third time is lucky.”_

Luck wasn’t enough. She was too small, more than likely bled too much. A lifetime of starvation made life difficult. Carrying life was another monster altogether. 

“Oh,” Peeta says. It should sadden him, but he feels only a slight ache in his left side. 

“But you didn’t need me to guess that,” Katniss says. The golden hoop of her nose ring catches some winter sunlight, a chain connecting to the comb in her hair, a present from her ever crafting brother, once friend, Gale. More and more of her father’s stock. 

“Was it gentle?” 

“I pray it was.” 

“The baby?” He sets down the package of lunch. “Community Home, then.” 

She shrugs. “Best thing for it now.” 

“What do we want to do, then?” 

Katniss says nothing, quickly dunks her hands in hot water and wipes blood stained fingers with her dark skirts.

***

She has a stomachache for the rest of the day, watching Abigail disappear among the crowd. 

***

She does do something, only two weeks later. A single mention on a phone call to Gale, between Cressida’s background scrambling of their daughter, scolding in Latin and English, has him catching her in her desire within a single sentence. 

_You want to,_ he said. She could hear, almost see that silly smirk of his. Always proving himself right. Since they were kids. 

_I don’t-_

_Come on, Catnip. You want to._ A definite crash on the other end of the line, the barking of a dog. His groan of exasperation before addressing her. _You just don’t know what comes next._

_We never know what comes next._

_Maybe. But you’ll be a bit closer if you try._

***

“Did your call go okay?” Peeta asks from bed. Katniss drags a fingernail underneath her left eye, watching in the bathroom mirror. He’s setting his leg down against the dresser. 

“Yeah,” she says. “Rosie loves the painting for her room. Gale wants to come up to help with the spring loads.” 

“He should. Would you like that?” 

Abigail’s arms wrap around her waist from behind. 

“Yes,” she says, and shuts off the light. 

***

Katniss dreams she’s watching her grandmother dance. Bells on her feet, turning around a fire with red skirts over and over. Beautiful surrounding battlements. Heavy skirts, golden earrings, big red dot on her dark forehead. Beautiful, dark hair. A long braid like hers. They said she looked like her grandmother. They said she had the same name. Their heads tilting back to see the moon. Singing, long and carrying notes. 

_Aao aur sarkal mein shaamil hon. Chaand hamaaree maan hai. Oh, maan. Oh, maan. Oh, maan._

She wakes, clutching her stomach, murring that familiar lullaby. Echoes of her father’s mother from his songs to soothe her and Prim to sleep. 

_Come and join our circle. The moon is our mother. Oh, mother. Oh, mother. Oh, mother._

***

She doesn’t sleep, instead watches the morning come by the open window, wrapped in her mother’s shawl. 

***

It’s a sunny morning, breath fogging the cold air, that she enters the newly built Community Home, input with systems of technology that has everyone in their system, keeping track of all orphaned, abandoned, or even momentarily lost children. Talks to the soft spoken man at the front desk and asks about Abigail. Her heart starts thudding, betraying thing, as she is lead upstairs to the infant wing. A soft, white room filled with soft breaths, monitors, nurses hovering here and there. 

The baby has fingers in her mouth, drool and gums. Eyes fixated on the mobile above. There’s a tag on this pale foot, like she’s some sort of parcel, written in neat script: Nelly. 

“Are you considering adoption?” asks the nurse. 

Katniss shakes her head. Puts one finger into the crib. Nelly grasps her pinkie, giving a squeal of delight. Dark eyes. Dark hair. The ghost of a stranger turned friend. 

“No,” Katniss says. “No, I’m not.” 

***

Her dreams are filled with her mother cantering on a grey, dappled mare. 

***

Four days later, Peeta Mellark comes home to his wife sat in the doorway, humming while a tiny hand reaches up to try and tug the large silver nath adorning her dark features. 

When he takes the baby from Katniss’ arms, she smells like sleep and cold air. The room of his mind bursts with sunlight. 

“Nelly,” Katniss says. 

“Nelly,” he repeats, as if tasting the weight. The little girl yawns, pink mouth and gums against Peeta’s collarbone, kicking her legs. “And your father?” 

“Dhriti,” she says. Adjusts the sleeve of her shirt. “A cousin, according to Mama. Speaking of her, she’s coming Sunday to bless her granddaughter. The moon will be full.” 

Peeta smiles. “As she should.” Shifts the little thing in his arms, who gives a funny sound, as if figuring out this creature is her father and not food. “The market should still be open for milk,” he says, and Katniss comes to her feet, taking the thick long scarf from her neck. Instinct overtakes them both, not something of blood and survival. Not with her. Never again. 

The baker sets the baby to Katniss’ chest, helps her secure those little legs to be wrapped tight in soft brown wool. Secured by a thick coat as well. Bundled against February and walking. 

“Together?” Katniss asks. Slips a hand in her husband’s. 

Peeta presses a kiss to her forehead. “Together.” 

Nelly Dhriti Everdeen-Mellark gives a satisfactory hiccup. 


End file.
